Blog Tour + #Giveaway: Quintina by Meghan Riley @pixiechaser @yaboundtourspr

Quintina 

(The Starseed Series #2)
by Meghan Riley
Genre: YA Sci-fi
Release Date: 2016

Summary from Goodreads:

No longer on Earth, Anna must now piece together her memories on the strange, new world of Enki. Guided by Julianus, the mysterious man who brought her back, she soon realizes this isn’t the same world she was starting to remember, making it even more difficult to figure out why she was sent to Earth. Will she be able to solve the mystery before the people who sent her away realize she’s back? Or will her memories forever remain lost?

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Other Books in Series

Anna (The Starseed Series #1) on Goodreads

The Starseed Series on Amazon:

Anna (Book 1) – Paperback | eBook

Quintina (Book 2) – Paperback | eBook

Chapter 1

Awakening

A steady, low pitched hum radiated from above and pulled me out of the darkness. I rolled over to my side, buried one ear in the soft pillow I laid on, covered the other with my hand, and prayed for it to go away. Whatever it was – my brother, a neighbor – I didn’t care. All I wanted was sleep. Lots of sleep.

But the sound didn’t go away. My attempts to block it only seemed to make it louder, like voices echoing down a tunnel. I tucked my hands under my head and told myself to ignore the sound, to focus on the blissful feeling that came from being on the edge of slumber.

But I couldn’t. My senses were uncontrollable. I tried to reign them back in, but it was too late. I became increasingly aware of my surroundings.

An annoying chill stretched up my legs from my feet. I promptly drew them toward me banging my knees against something cold and hard. I gasped and squinted firmly against the pain, letting out a groan. The room…it didn’t smell right. It smelled like a…shower curtain.

I rolled over and opened my eyes. Something clear like glass hung low and distorted the dark ceiling above me. Confused, I reached out and touched the barrier, sliding my hand across it from where it met the white padded bed I laid on to the slick curve it made over me like the lid of a coffin. This wasn’t the thin, flat glass of a window pane, but thick and molded. I followed it with my eyes to the foot of the bed where it continued to surround me.

What the –?

I twisted my body and looked behind me, toward the source of the humming. It was coming from a large white case attached to the head of the bed. When the doctor was trying to figure out the source of my hallucinations, he put me in an MRI machine about this size, but it wasn’t as large. I stared at it trying to process what I was seeing, but the longer I lay there, the more it felt like the glass was closing in around me.

As I reached up with both hands and gently pushed on the glass, the long sleeves of my plain white shirt slid down my forearms toward my shoulders. It held firmly in place.

I ran my hands along the seam between the barrier and bed trying to feel for a latch or button, but there was nothing. I once again reached up with both hands and pushed, harder this time. The glass refused to budge. My heartbeat quickened. I’m trapped!

I looked down at my white pants and bare feet. What am I doing here? I thought back over the last 24 hours. It was fuzzy, but it was starting to come back to me – stargazing, Jared, Doctor McCormick, Steve, the shadow man…some hazy images of space. Is it true? Did I really travel to another planet?

The sound of a voice broke my train of thought. The glass acted like a conductor, making it resonate around me. I couldn’t understand exactly what was being said, because the language was none I had ever heard before, but I could tell it belonged to a man and he was angry.

Through the distortion of the glass at my feet, I noticed something moving. Focusing on that end of the room, I could just make out a gray door with a window. It was closed, but someone was standing in front of it. Their body blocked part of the white light that was passing through the window. I was sure they were the source of the voice. Their shoulders rose at the climax of each angry sentence and it occurred to me, whoever they were, there was a chance they were hostile.

With both hands, I hit the glass full force. It lifted off the bed a little, which was just the encouragement I needed. I hit it again. It gave a little bit more and fell back into place.

I hit it again and again and again. All my emotions from the memories of Jared, Dr. McCormick, Steve, and my family came flooding out of me.

I pounded the glass until my knuckles split open and tears streamed down my face. Then, surprisingly, the glass slid back behind me. When I blinked away the tears, someone was standing in front of me.

“Quintina?” It was the man with the blue eyes I had seen when I first arrived. Now, fully awake, I saw I was wrong: he wasn’t the man I had seen in my visions on Earth. He had the same blue eyes, thick angular brow, and close-cut brown hair, even the same chiseled jaw, but the mouth was wrong. It was smaller and carried a permanent hint of disapproval at its corners, not the teasing of a playful grin. And the nose didn’t match. The ridge was bowed, like it had been broken and never healed correctly, but it seemed fitting for the 5 o’clock shadow and general ruggedness that he seemed to encompass, a contrast to the man in my visions, who was more refined and polished, like the gentleman you’d find in a Jane Austen book.

Guest Post:

10 Things I Didn’t Know About Becoming a Published Author

My newly released book, Quintina, is the second book I’ve published. Like many, I dove into publishing headfirst, not entirely sure what I was getting myself into, but driven by my dreams of being published. Along the way, I’ve learned a few things about publishing, not just from my own mistakes, but those of other writers, as well. I want to share those lessons with anyone who may be considering publishing a book.

1.      Writing a book and publishing a book are two different things. You can spend hours putting words to paper, but publishing a book requires tenacity. It’s what gets you through hours of editing, formatting, graphic design, and rejection. It requires you to be more than just a writer, because you’re creating a product.

2.      Published authors spend as much time learning about formatting and marketing as doing research for their books. Be prepared to learn the technology behind publishing and marketing, or be ready to pay someone else to do it for you. Even if you are picked up by a traditional publisher, you’ll be expected to know social media and other marketing outlets.

3.      Editing is a necessity. I don’t mean going through your book a few times looking for errors. I refer to a second party taking a close look at grammar, punctuation, syntax, etc., possibly even fact checking. Too many writers skip editing or have an unqualified friend do the work. As soon as you hit publish, you’re not just putting your writing out there, but establishing a reputation. You want to make a good first impression and a poorly edited book can follow you for years.

4.      Editing is expensive. No, really. It’s EXPENSIVE. New writers are often surprised by this, but you get what you pay for and a good editor can really help you to elevate your writing (and help you improve your own skills).

5.      The cover is very important. Investing in a professional cover designer can increase your chances of getting a cover that will increase sales of your book, but won’t guarantee it. I paid a professional to do the first cover of Anna, the first book in the Starseed Series, but I wasn’t 100% happy with it. When I redid the cover myself, I sold more books, but I did a lot of research and chose features from popular books in my genre. Do your research and ask the opinions of others before you finalize your cover.

6.      Packaged deals may sound like a convenient solution, but they’ll cost you a good deal more. With my first book, I paid a service that handled everything from editing to formatting. I paid about twice as much for editing than I should have. I also got upsold on some services that had little bearing on the success of my book. With the second book, I broke up those services. I took control of what I could confidently handle (the cover and marketing pieces) and outsourced what I wasn’t (editing and formatting). I saved a good deal of money.

7.      Book review services are not worth the money spent. With my first book, I paid for a service that advertised my book to a list of reviewers. Those interested could request a copy of my book in exchange for an honest review. I sent out a lot of copies. Only a fraction followed through and some of those clearly stated in their reviews that they don’t usually read my genre and didn’t really enjoy my book (so why did they request it?). I don’t suggest going that route. Take the time to research bloggers and reviewers who read your genre and contact them directly with a request to review your book.

8.      Brick and mortar stores will not instantly warm up to you if you’re self-published. There’s a general feeling that independent authors do not sell and stores are constantly struggling to compete with companies like Amazon, so they have to focus on the bestsellers. You’ll need to prove that you have a large enough audience to make stocking your book worthwhile. It helps if you offer to do a book signing or some other promotion to drive traffic to their store.

9.      One book will not produce a significant income, because published authors rarely make it big with their first book. So, don’t write a book to get rich. You need to establish an audience first. The sales of one book will fuel the sales of the others. The only exception may be if you already have a large amount of followers on social media, a blog, or an email list. Some bloggers with a strong following see significant success when they publish a book in their niche.

10. Published authors need thick skins. This may seems obvious, but until you start getting reviews, you don’t realize how true this is. Not everyone will like your book…and that’s okay! No one is a perfect writer. Heck, even Amazon will question the validity of your reviews if all you get is 5 stars. Low reviews are expected at times. There’s no need to worry about it unless that’s all you ever get.

If you’re considering publishing a book, I highly suggest that you join a writer’s group. You can learn some invaluable information from the other members, including recommendations for editors and formatters. You can even round up some beta readers. If you’re short on time, it doesn’t need to be a local group. There are some good writing groups on Facebook. Here are some of my favorites:

Pat’s First Kindle Book

Fiction Writers

Indie Writers Unite

Writers Helping Writers

About the Author

Meghan Riley graduated with a bachelor’s degree in English from the University of Maryland and immediately pursued her lifelong passion for the written word. Her debut novel, Anna, presented itself as a way for Riley to inspire teenage girls to expand their interests beyond the typical teenage quandaries, ultimately encouraging females toward an interest in science. She is currently hard at work on the next book in The Starseed Series. 

Author Links:

Website│Goodreads│Twitter│Facebook

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PROMO Blitz: The Butcher's Daughter by Mark McMillin @RABTBookTours

Historical Fiction / Adventure

Date Published: August 2015

In an age ruled by iron men, in a world of new discovery and Spanish gold, a young Irishwoman named Mary rises from the ashes of her broken childhood with ships and men-at-arms under her command. She and her loyal crew prowl the Caribbean and prosper in the New World for a time until the ugly past Mary has fled from in the old one finds her.

Across the great ocean to the east, war is coming. The King of Spain is assembling the most powerful armada the world has ever seen - an enormous beast - to invade England and depose the Protestant “heretic queen.” To have any chance against the wealth and might of Spain, England will need every warship, she will need every able captain. To this purpose, Queen Elizabeth spares Mary from the headman’s axe for past sins in exchange for her loyalty, her ships and men.

Based on true historical events, this is a tale about war, adventure, love and betrayal. This is a story about vengeance, this is a tale of heartbreak… 

Recent Praise for The Butcher's Daughter:

"... a pleasurable and action-packed read ... a delicious spin to the otherwise tired clichés of male captains ... the joy of the open seas - as well as the danger churning below - pulses throughout this rip-roaring, hearty tale of the high seas." - Kirkus Reviews

"... an entertaining read ... full of authentic historical events ... a defiant story, a narrative of strong will and perseverance which ultimately plummets to a tragic end." - Readers' Favorite

"... a historic adventure ... a beautiful romance ..." - Bargain Book Reviews (5x5 Stars)

"A wonderful novel in the best tradition of maritime literature ... authentic and rich with details, the characters are alive and passionate, and the plot is full of thrilling action, intense drama, and stunning surprises ... [an] exhilarating adventure ... an unforgettable journey ..." - The Columbia Review

Profanity - Moderate

Sex - Moderate

Violence – Heavy

EXCERPT

A man - I cannot say if he was wise or not - once said to me as he gently stroked my hair, as he slowly poured honeyed words into my ear with false affection: “Hush dear child, hush. ‘Tis best if you lay still. ‘Tis best you accept this gift I give you now without complaint my lovely, golden dove.”

I never knew this man’s name. Long years have passed since I heard those vile words. They haunt me still.

Blood. I saw a lot of blood as I stepped into my father’s shop that night.

I suppose the matter had to do with a debt unpaid, money owed to one clan or another. When I heard the voices of strange men inside our home arguing with my father, I had rushed downstairs out of curiosity with a candle in my hand, dressed only in my nightgown and barefoot.

And when I reached the bottom of the stairs, I saw two brutes holding my father down against his wooden cutting table while a third man, a tall, sinewy fellow standing in front of him, stabbed him over and over again in the arms, the chest and stomach with a long knife. Then the tall man tossed his knife in the air with one hand and caught it by the handle with the other, as if he was performing some parlor trick, and slashed my father’s throat wide open with one, elegant swing. Sprays of blood spurted across the room. I watched my father’s eyes flutter for a bit before they closed on him forever.

But I am well accustomed with blood and gore. I am the butcher’s daughter.

No doubt I stared at my father’s three murders wide-eyed, confused, even in horror. But I did not scream. I did not cry out. I did not look or call for any help. I buried any urge to panic.

The tall, sinewy man with the knife fled when he saw me. His two companions did not. They had unfinished business. They released their grip on my father. They let his limp body slip to the floor with a dull thud and then slowly moved towards me - all smiles.

I was but twelve or so. I had never known a man before that day.

I cannot say if the man who commanded me to lie still after he forced me to the floor next to my father’s torn body, the man who thought of me as his lovely, golden dove, was wise or not for I only knew him for the briefest of moments. You see, that man died in my arms on top of me not long after he spoke those very words to me.

My memory of that night is clouded in my mind. No, that is not quite true. I have chosen to wrap that memory in cloud. But I can, if I wish to, remember that night - even now - with crystal clarity, in the most striking detail.

Aye, the man on top of me died in my arms that day. He died after he had torn my nightgown open, after he had thrust himself inside of me - he died after I removed his dagger from his belt and plunged it deep into his black heart. I can still hear the air escaping from his lungs. I can still smell the rot on his breath. I can still see the pupils of his eyes rolling up behind his skull as his life slipped away from him forever.

His companion had fared a little better. I stabbed him, skewered him really, through the mouth when he leaned over to pull his dying friend off me. The blade pierced one cheek and sliced through the other. The man screamed and fled outside, running wildly down New Market Street with the dagger still lewdly sticking out of both sides of his mouth. Not a mortal wound perhaps, but a man with scars on each cheek like that is not a hard man to find as you might imagine. Time and patience is all that is needed. A little time, a little patience, and you can easily find a man like that with matching scars at your leisure.

I can say, with absolute certainty, that this day was the last day of my childhood. But it was also the day-of-days - for this was the first day of my liberation, of my awakening, as well.

I had forewarned her gentle majesty of course. I had told her that a highborn lady, especially a queen, should not hear of such things so foul and impure.

But she ignored my warning. She leaned close to me and squeezed my hand reassuringly. “It is, dear sister,” she told me flatly, “a pitiless and putrid world ruled by pitiless and putrid men, men who think of us as little more than chattel. We would know your story. From start to finish, we would know how it is you came to rule over such cruel and loathsome men in a man’s cruel and loathsome world.”

Yes, it is true. Sitting in a chair across from me in my drab lodgings in the Tower of London, a place of luxury compared to the dungeon I had only days before been released from, the great and mighty Queen of England addressed me, a lowly commoner and a thief, as her sister...

My lads forced the big man down to his knees before me. They stretched his arms out taut and held him firmly in place for me.

“Why, Captain Dowlin,” I said and laughed, “you’ve gone and pissed yourself I see! You’ve gone and soiled my deck! And my crew scrubbed these planks down with holystones just this morning. They put their backs into it let me tell you. They scrubbed this deck down clean.”

“Please,” Dowlin pleaded, whimpering with spittle and snot running down his long beard. His eyes were nearly swollen shut from the good drubbing my men had given him. “Please, please, please...” he repeated over and over again.

“Please?” I asked. “Is that all you can say? How pathetic. I pray you can beg far better than that, especially when it is your own, pitiful life hanging in the balance. Come now, I know you can do better and I promised my lads a bit of entertainment tonight before supper.”

“Please, my lady, please spare my life. For mercy’s sake. I have gold. I have much gold!”

“For mercy’s sake?” I asked. “No, I think not for mercy’s sake. But for gold you say? Well now, you’ve piqued my curiosity there. And how much glittering gold is your miserable life worth to you, Dowlin?”

“Anything, name your price!”

I looked over at what was left of Dowlin’s bloodied and beaten crew herded around the main mast in a tight circle. They were bound in chains, intently watching my every move, soaking in my every word. After today they would be my men.

My own lads knew the drill. They forced Dowlin down lower, exposing the back of his soft neck to me.

I stood to the side and drew my sword. “The price Dowlin - is your head!”

“Nooooooooooooo…” Dowlin screamed just before I cleaved my way through flesh and bone. With one, clean stroke, his severed head rolled grotesquely across my deck until it came to rest at the feet of his defeated crew.

And then I pointed my sword at them, the bright, steel blade now dripping with Dowlin’s fresh blood. “As my men will vouch,” I told them, “I’m no purveyor of lies and because I do not lie I cannot say to you that killing gives me no pleasure. Your master was a wretched pig and it gave me great pleasure to kill him. Now you know why some call me Bloody Mary. Now you serve me and this ship - or not. You are free to choose.”

The upshot of my touch of drama was grand. The prisoners all at once dropped to their knees and groveled at my feet. They all at once pledged their undying loyalty to me.

“Master Gilley!”

“Aye, Madam?”

“Introduce the new lads to our ways.”

“With pleasure, Mum, with pleasure!”

Thomas Gilley was my rock. He had been with me from the beginning. For nearly two years we had crisscrossed the vast and perilous oceans together. For the past year we had sailed under Dowlin’s cruel shadow.

“And our course, Mum?”

“The new lads will tell you - gladly now I should think - what our new heading is to be.”

And by that of course I meant that Dowlin’s men would tell us where Dowlin’s gold was stashed away, or pay the awful price for their silence.

As my men went about their labors, securing the heavy guns and making repairs to shattered planks, to torn lines and sail, I went below to my great cabin, content with a good day’s work. Dowlin had thoughtlessly, and without good purpose, brutalized any who had crossed his path. Men, women, children, he cared not. Yes, Dowlin was a wretched, stinking pig who often killed for sport. I had done mankind a favor by dispatching him. But in my world, Dowlin had also been a lord and master, a prince. His death I knew could not be cheaply bought.

“An inspiring performance, Mum!” a voice called out, startling me as I stepped into my great cabin. The voice popped out from behind the door, closed it quickly and slid the bolt back inside the socket.

I would not give the intruder the satisfaction of knowing that he had, for once, caught me unawares. “I’m glad you were amused,” I told him flatly.

He slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me close against him. “Do you,” he asked with a smile, “despise all men?”

“All but one or two,” I replied and kissed him lightly on the lips. Then I reached down between his legs and grabbed him by his privates. He was already stiff and eager. I couldn’t help myself and moaned with anticipation.

“Only one or two?” he inquired. “Dare I ask who?”

“Ah, you are safe for now my dearest,” I answered, batting my eyes flirtatiously. “Well, at least for a night or two. You have skills, remarkable skills worth keeping.”

“Aye, it was a splendid day indeed. I’ve always been exceptionally good at fighting, equally talented with sword, knife, a musket or explosives. I suppose one could say I was born to it.”

“You are a great warrior, James Hunter,” I replied honestly and squeezed him even harder. “But those are not the skills that interest me tonight. I dare say you have other skills that I’ve taken quite a fancy to, skills I wish to test.”

“Ah, now, that is why I’m here my lady,” Hunter replied and flashed his brilliant smile for me. “Not too tired from all that killing?”

“Shut up and take me you fool. Ravish me - I am hot for your wicked touch…”

Hunter obliged me gladly, with all he had to give.

I stood on the poop deck next to MacGyver, Michael MacGyver, my best man at the helm, watching the morning sun, dressed in brilliant red, rise majestically above the sea’s shimmering green waters. A good, flowing wind filled our sails and the ship was cruising along nicely. We had Dowlin’s magnificent ship in tow and I could hear my men with their saws and hammers working to repair her shattered rudder. It was a glorious morning. It was a hallelujah morning.

“Good day, Mum,” Hunter said with a mischievous grin as he made his way up the companionway and handed me a mug of steaming, black coffee. “Sleep well my lady?”

“I did indeed, Master Hunter, I did indeed. And you?”

“I have no complaints. I feel most refreshed.”

From the corner of my eye, I could see MacGyver crack a thin smile. A ship is a small place, too small for secrets. The whole crew knew that Hunter and I were lovers.

I savored the coffee’s rich aroma for a bit before I took a sip. “What course, MacGyver? Did old Gilley even give you one before he retired to his hammock or are you sailing aimlessly about on the open sea to only God knows where?”

“We sail for the Na Sailtí, my lady.”

“Ahhh, the Saltee Islands,” I said. “I thought as much.”

No one had ever accused Dowlin of being clever. The Saltee Islands, lying just off Kilmore Quay between Waterford and Wexford, was an obvious choice. The islands were remote and uninhabited and not far from Dowlin’s base at Youghal. Still, without a map or guide, one could roam those small islands for years and not find any buried treasure.

Hunter grabbed my mug of coffee from my hand and took a sip. “Dowlin’s brothers,” he said soberly, staring absently out at the horizon, “ghastly brutes the pair of them, will want revenge when they hear of what we’ve done, Mary. Righteous or not, the gods always exact a price for a killing.”

Only Hunter and Gilley ever addressed me by my given name. Mary had been my mother’s name. But I did not know her. She had died when I was very young. They say she had been a rare beauty. They say that before my father took her in and married her, she had been a whore.

“No doubt,” I said evenly, stealing a secret moment to admire Hunter’s exquisite face in the soft, morning light.

He had not yet shaved. He wore no hat and had neglected braiding his long, black hair into a queue. The breezes toyed with the loose strands, brushing them across his face. His eyes were striking blue. His chin was square and strong. I thought him the most handsome man in all of Ireland, perhaps in all of Christendom.

Hunter used his fingers to comb the tangled mess off his forehead. He turned to face me and gave me a puzzled look.

“Out with it, Hunter,” I demanded.

“I’d rather see it comin’ than get it in the back. That’s all, my lady.”

“I agree,” MacGyver chimed in, “with Hunter.”

“You agree with Hunter do you now?” I asked mockingly as I placed my hands on my hips. “As if I give a damn what you two agree on! Do I smell a mutiny brewing aboard my ship?”

Hunter and MacGyver exchanged knowing glances and chuckled. As every man in my crew knew, any one of them could speak his mind freely and without fear. Honest speech was protected by one of the Ten Rules, though precisely which one I doubt any of us knew.

Then Gilley, climbing up the ladder from the main deck, stepped onto the quarter deck carrying a basket of bread from the ship’s galley. The bread was freshly baked, still warm and smelled delicious.

“Mutiny is it?” Gilley asked while handing out his loaves. “Never trusted the likes of these two, Mum. Be happy to gut them both for you after they finish their breakfast. I’ll hang their worthless carcasses off the main yardarm to rot. Let them serve as a warnin’ to all other would be mutineers.”

“Hunter,” I said, “is worried about Dowlin’s brothers.”

“Ah, and well he should be, Mum,” replied Gilley with a serious nod. “Well he should be. Them two aren’t no better than Dowlin. Worse maybe. An ill-tempered litter sprung from the angry womb of an ill-tempered bitch.”

“Aye,” I agreed. “So gentlemen, we must be the first to strike. And when we strike we must do so with deadly purpose.”

I stopped along the narrow path for a moment to catch my breath after the long and strenuous climb. I could see my ship peacefully riding anchor in the cove below. Phantom was a five hundred ton, French-built nao, ships renowned for their strength and speed. She was both square and lateen-rigged and carried eighteen great guns cast from solid bronze - a mix of falconets and sakers mounted on rolling carriages stood neatly against her bulwarks like soldiers on parade. And fixed to iron pedestals mounted along her rails were another thirty swivels for close-quarter fighting. Sitting next to Phantom was Dowlin’s larger ship, a fine, Dutch-built man-o-war displacing six hundred tons or better, not as swift as a nao but she was well-armed and built for rugged war. The sight of the stubby noses of her guns protruding through the open gunports - a mix of periers, sakers and falconets, twenty-four great guns in all - sent a tingle up my spine. She too carried a goodly number of swivels. What a handsome sight both ships made together!

The man-o-war had been Dowlin’s flagship. Now Dowlin’s flagship was my flagship. Under Dowlin, men knew her as Medusa’s Head. And just to make certain that any who laid eyes on her knew exactly what ship she was, a hideous replica of the witch’s head, with deadly snakes for hair and sharp fangs for teeth, adorned her high prow. No sailor roaming across the open sea could ever gaze upon that carved monstrosity without freezing in their tracks. As I resumed my climb up the cliff, I decided I would rechristen Dowlin’s ship. I would rename her Falling Star after the shooting star I had seen streaking outside my father’s butcher’s shop at the very moment my father’s assailants had pried my legs apart and deflowered me. And then I’d pitch the witch’s grotesque likeness into the sea.

After we reached the summit of the cliff the land flattened out before us and we could see the Irish Sea in all directions for miles. Visibility was excellent. There was not a single sail in sight.

The island was little more than a desolate pile of rock and sand covered over in wild grass and patches of scrub brush. The only inhabitants we saw were small lizards scurrying about and seabirds, birds of many kinds and colors. Countless numbers of birds squawked and chirped at each other all across the island.

Armed with shovels and pick-axes, my new recruits led the way under a bright and sizzling sun. They were clearly fidgety and reluctant to press on, fearing I suppose that they were marching to their own graves. I gave them no reason to think otherwise. We marched in single file towards the southern tip of the island until we came upon a cluster of boulders surrounded by a thicket of scraggly thorn bushes.

“This is the place?” I asked the lead man after he stopped and surveyed the area around us. I addressed this man first because I had seen the deference the others had given him. He had also been the first to tell Gilley where we could find Dowlin’s treasure.

He hesitated before answering me. I gave him a hard look and then took a moment to consider his men. “Did you, or did you not all swear your allegiance to me?”

“We did, Mum,” the lead man answered.

“What is your name?” I asked.

“Flannigan, Mum, Joseph Flannigan from Kinsale in County Cork.”

“Well, Master Joseph Flannigan from Kinsale in County Cork, I did not come all this way, I did not go to all this trouble, just so I could kill you. I don’t need to kill you. And besides, I don’t murder unarmed men.”

Flannigan lowered his head. “Beg pardon, Mum, but Dowlin was unarmed.”

“Ah, a fair point you make there Master Flannigan,” I said. “Touché. But you are mistaken. I didn’t murder Dowlin. I executed him.”

I turned to address Flannigan’s men. “I know Master Gilley explained things to you the other night and explained them to you clearly. Killing or harming innocent or helpless men, women or children is strictly forbidden. It is a violation of our Ten Rules. Now it is hot and this island is no paradise. Let us to business shall we? You can help me recover Dowlin’s plunder - and take your rightful share - or I can leave you all here to live on birds’ eggs until some fishing trawler happens upon you. But I will not kill you.”

Flannigan shook his head. “Even if what you say is true Lady Mary, we are still all dead men. Dowlin has two brothers, the Twins. They know us and they will find us and kill us all for helping you.”

Hunter took a step towards Flannigan and rested his hand on Flannigan’s shoulder. “Lad, you and your mates are most likely dead men already even if you don’t help us. Once you reach home, Dowlin’s brothers will find and kill you all just because you didn’t die with Dowlin.”

Flannigan’s men exchanged looks all around. Heads started bobbing up and down.

Flannigan clenched his teeth; he stared at me with eyes as cold as stone. “We won’t be the only game the Twins will want to feast on, Madam.”

I answered Flannigan with a bold and cocky smile. “Aye, the Twins, the Devil’s own offspring to be sure and far more dangerous than Dowlin ever thought to be. They’re more dangerous because they’re smart. The Twins and Dowlin were only half-brothers I hear, same she-bitch mother but begotten from different seed.”

“You know them then?” asked Flannigan.

“Not well. I saw them once tie a man down and slowly skin him alive. The poor devil’s only crime was to prudently pitch some Dowlin cargo overboard during a treacherous gale to save his ship and crew from foundering.”

Flannigan nodded. “Aye, I’ve seen some of their grizzly work up close.” Then he baited me. “One brother is a big, ugly bastard, strong as an ox. The other is a bit prettier, but just as big and no less strong.”

“Ah, Master Flannigan, you wish to test me? I respect that. No, the Twins are nearly exact copies of each other. One is challenged to tell them apart even close-up. They’re both huge, a head taller than any man I’ve ever laid eyes on. But one brother is a half hand taller than the other and as for appearances, well, not my taste, but they are hardly ugly.”

“Apologies, Mum. Right you are. I fear your man Hunter here is right too. The Twins will come looking for us even if we refuse to help you. What then?”

“You let me worry about that. First things first. Now, shall we dig?”

Flannigan pointed to a pitted, reddish brown rock in the middle of patch of wild flowers that seemed somehow out of place. The rock, I soon realized, was not indigenous to the island. I grabbed a shovel from Flannigan’s hand and started scooping out the first shovelfuls of dirt and sand myself.

About the Author

Mark McMillin is a general counsel for a company in the aviation industry. His home is in the Atlanta, GA area.

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Excerpt Tour + #Giveaway: A Simple Vow by Charlotte Hubbard @GoddessFish

A Simple Vow

by Charlotte Hubbard

GENRE: Inspirational Romance ( Amish)

BLURB:

Housed in a rustic red barn, the Simple Gifts crafts shop celebrates the talents of the Amish of Willow Ridge—and the faith that inspires them. For the acceptance of simplicity opens the path to love.

As far as Edith Riehl is concerned, the baby twins thrust suddenly into her arms are a heaven-sent gift. Unable to conceive, she longs to be a mother with a home of her own. She’s going to abide by her promise to handsome Asa Detweiler to take care of them while he looks for their real father. And even if her domineering dat Cornelius refuses to countenance Asa’s suit, she can only pray the bachelor’s honesty and persistence will uncover the truth—even as he’s kindled an impossible hope for a love of her own…

Asa can’t understand why anyone would think he would be so dishonorable as to father babies and then abandon them. He’s determined to clear his name—but Edith’s caring ways also inspire him to help heal her wounded spirit and earn her trust. In the face of heartbreaking deception, he and Edith must find the strength to understand, forgive…and claim their own hearts’ joy.

EXCERPT:

As Asa mounted his horse and headed down the road, his thoughts whirled like a tornado’s funnel cloud. When he’d first heard the phone message accusing him of fathering twins by some young woman named Molly, he’d found the situation outrageous—but now that he’d met Will Gingerich and heard more of the story, he was even more upset. And confused.

He could understand why Will was acting half crazy, because dealing with cancer and grief did that to a man. But how had Will gotten his phone number? If Will’s wife had hollered only a first name what if she’d declared her love for a different man altogether? The whole situation seemed bizarre, and Asa sensed that he could mull it over all the way home and still not have any answers by the time he reached Clifford.

On instinct Asa turned and saw that Edith Riehl was still standing on her porch, watching him. When he waved, she waved back before stooping to pick up the two babies in their baskets. Now that young woman was a saint, taking responsibility for twins on the promise that Will Gingerich would return for them. Asa wasn’t a betting man, but he figured the odds were about fifty-fifty that Will would come back—and about nil that he’d try to raise the babies on his own. Parenting would be a daunting task for a man alone even under more normal circumstances, and even with help from Molly’s family.

Asa shook his head as he imagined the trials and tribulations of tending two helpless babies. But Edith will handle it. She’s a can-do sort of woman whose heart and priorities are in the right place.

“Let’s go, Midnight,” he murmured, urging his gelding into an easy canter as they reached the curve where the road left town. His ride home would be much more enjoyable if he thought about Edith Reihl . . . imagined her waiting for him on the porch of a tidy house as his work day came to an end . . .

Asa heard rapid hoofbeats coming up behind him, but he was awash in his pleasant thoughts—and he never dreamed a buggy driver would race past him so fast on the narrow road that Midnight would spook and lose his footing in the gravel. Asa cried out as a small rock struck his forehead. He had the sensation of flying through the air—leaving the saddle—

And then he hit the ground and felt nothing at all.

AUTHOR BIO:

Many moons ago—like, in 1983 while she was still a school librarian—Charlotte Hubbard sold her first story to True Story. This launched her into writing around seventy of those “true confessions” stories over the years, and she’s been a slave to her overactive imagination ever since. Over the course of her writing career, she has sold nearly 50 books—most recently, Amish romance series she’s written as Charlotte Hubbard or Naomi King.

Charlotte lived in Missouri for most of her life, so her Amish stories are set in imaginary Missouri towns. These days she lives in St. Paul, MN with her husband of 40+ years and their Border collie, Ramona.

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VBT + Review + #Giveaway: Special Levels of Earthly Hell by Merry Freer @MFreerWriter @GoddessFish

Special Levels of Earthly Hell

by Merry Freer

GENRE:  Horror, Supernatural

BLURB:

Drew Collins experiences the world in black and white. As an educated man of science, he rejects belief in the paranormal and the existence of demons. Until an evil energy he calls "The Beast" repeatedly enters his bedroom at night and takes possession of his wife's body.

What he witnesses at night in his own bedroom cannot be reconciled with science. And yet he sees it with his own eyes, feels its presence, ominous and evil, with his entire being.

Against every instinct, Drew reaches out for help. It is not just his marriage that’s at stake. The evil force has invaded his wife's family, tearing them apart and culminating in bloodshed and murder. Drew must face a stark choice: sacrifice his belief that the world is a rational place and fight an entity he doesn’t understand and is reluctant to label, or abandon his wife and her family.

Author's Note to the Reader: Sadly, the most frightening and brutal events in this book are factual. The story is loosely based on one family's experience with multiple tragedies, some of them "ripped from the headlines." It is also an excruciatingly factual account of one man's experience with a loved one who is possessed by a demonic presence. However, it transcends genre and is as much a tale of romance, of cultural barriers, of abuse, and of family drama, as it is of demonic possession.The link between the introduction of an evil spirit and the heartbreaking misfortunes that are visited on the family is left for the reader to decide.

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Excerpt:

It was 3:00am, though Drew didn’t notice the time. He was startled into a state of complete consciousness by a feeling of intense dread and fear. Had he been sleeping? Had the feeling returned because he let go – drifted off and let down his guard? Terror ripped through him when he sensed a malevolent force above him. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Even in the pitch darkness of the room, he could see that a dark silhouette straddled him, standing upright, and as he recognized the form, he knew, with a lightning fast certainty he didn’t yet understand, that it only appeared to be his Adriana, her body inhabited by the evil force, her spirit squeezed from her helpless body and now possessed by whatever energy had terrorized them. He brought his eyes to meet those of the adversary that stood above him, silently begging to find recognition, but its black, dead eyes rolled back in their sockets and he realized instantly, as though by telepathy, that it intended to attack him...to fall on him! The form became completely rigid, falling straight forward like a stone slab toward his prone body, with no regard to how it might land. He let out a scream of primal fear that came from the depths of his being. Some kind of demonic beast was hurtling toward him and, throwing up his arms and hands to protect himself from its fall, he instinctively pushed at the foreign creature and threw it from his body, his hands burning with the contact. The creature’s head took the force of the fall, cracking into the heavy nightstand beside the bed.

Sitting up in the bed, shaking, perspiration dripping from his pores, he reached for the lamp on the nightstand and reluctantly turned the switch, terrified of what he might find, knowing he had no choice.

On the floor beside the table lay Adriana, his wife, in a fetal position, holding the back of her head, crying and confused. Drew climbed from the bed, taking her in his arms.

“What happened to me?” she whimpered, still rubbing the growing bump on her head.

“You don’t remember anything?” Drew whispered, carrying her limp body back to the bed.

“I think I hurt my head,” she said.

“You climbed over me to turn on the light and you fell,” Drew lied.

My Review:

While on vacation in Mexico Drew Collins and educated man of science meets a very beautiful woman Adriana Alvarez who works at the Department of Social Services in the capitol city of Guanajuato, deep in the center of Mexico. Adriana takes Drew on a tour of the city of all the famous places in history. Drew and Adrian fall head over heels in love the first time they lay eyes on each other and decide to live in the United States.

Drew takes Adriana home with him to his mother’s where he lives. Adriana and his mother like each other from the very first time they see each other. His mother is very happy that he has finally found someone to love and she has a daughter now. She spoils Adriana by taking her shopping all the time and buying her everything. If Adriana just makes a commit stating that she likes something then “Sweetie” buys it for her.

Everything is going just great for Drew and Adriana. Adriana works very hard trying to help Drew so they can make more money and have more things. She works more than one job so that they can buy a second house and rent it out. Adriana has big plans for the both of them.

Drew loves his wife so much that when a demon enters into her body he doesn’t tell her so that she can help fight it. He doesn’t think she can handle it. If he had told her so that they could have fought this demon with their love then maybe they wouldn’t have had to go through the things they did. Drew had a hard time dealing with the demon himself. He wasn’t sure he believed in demons. With being an educated man of science he didn’t believe in any religion so therefore he didn’t see how he could believe in demons. But he has witnessed the demonic possession of his wife and now of his sisters in laws. And this demon is tearing their families apart and killing innocence people. He doesn’t know how much more he can take.

When I read the summary for Special Levels of Earthly Hell I thought it would be great to read a book about the supernatural where someone is possessed like the shows on tv about the supernatural. I liked following along with Drew, Adriana and her family and all of the adventures with the demon. But I do wish Drew had enlisted Adriana and her sisters help in fighting the demon. If he had only given them the choice to fight then things might not have turned out the way they did. I mean it was their life and bodies it should have been their choice not his. Drew is a good loving father and husband but I do think he could have handled it a little different.

But with saying all that I did like Drew very much and I do think that he was doing what he thought was the best thing for his wife and family. Drew has a very big and loving heart. He cares for everyone and will do what he can for people even if when he doesn’t have to. If someone needs his help he will give it no matter what time of day or night it may be he is there.

Special Levels of Earthly Hell will have your emotions on many, many different levels themselves. It will have you laughing one minute and then the next you will be crying your heart out. I was definitely not expecting that ending it blew me away. If you have not read Special Levels of Earthly Hell then I recommend that you do. It will stay with you long after you have finished reading it. 

AUTHOR BIO:

Merry Freer is an author of memoir and fact-based fiction. “Special Levels of Earthly Hell: The Story of One Family’s Chilling Struggle with Demonic Possession”  was inspired by actual events that were experienced by her nuclear and extended families, tearing relationships apart and making national news headlines. This book comes on the heels of her first book, a memoir named “Doctor, Doctor.”  While "Doctor, Doctor" is her debut novel, she has been a writer and editor for many years, including work with the San Diego Chargers and the San Diego Hall of Champions. She holds a Bachelor's Degree in Journalism from San Diego State University and has been a featured speaker for classes dealing with medical ethics.

Her controversial memoir, "Doctor, Doctor," topped the Best Seller List in True Crime/White Collar Crime for 10 months and received a "Best Books of 2014" award from "Suspense Magazine."

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